Equilibrium (english)
by Truly.Scrumptious76
Summary: Four weeks without Prozium and all sensations and emotions have already returned, the good and the bad ones. All that are banned and will be the death of me, should anyone see me give in to them. I have no idea how long they will let me feel the pain and sorrow. I made a huge mistake and now I'm to involved to escape. I dared to have feelings for the one who could destroy me.
1. Introduction

At the beginning of the 21. Century a third world war ravaged our country. Nations massacred each other. Complete continents were extinguished. The few surviving nations knew man would never survive a fourth war, and agreed that our own erratic kind posed a risk factor. So they created a new department of justice: the Grammaton cleric, whose sole purpose was the reconnaissance and extinction of human cruelties' true source: their ability for emotion.

They call it a disease.

Its symptoms are anger, fury, hatred and war.

The disease inside the human heart is emotion.

Thanks to scientists and scholars man had been cured and had accepted the healing process. All due to the great equalizer - Prozium. At long last man is at peace with himself. Mankind is one. War doesn't exist any longer, hatred is just a memory. We are our own conscience.

And this conscience motivates us to destroy those things that tempt us to feel again. They label them EC-10 for Emotional Content. Books, paintings, movies and music, even animals, are forbidden. Libraries and galleries burnt for weeks all over the country. Colors faded into a homogeneous grey - in clothing, in architecture and even in people's faces. Due to Prozium, love ceased to exist. As did jealousy and heartache. Grammaton selects your partner based on scientifically proven statistics. At the age of eighteen you get married. If your marriage is successful, which it usually is - as there are no unpredictable factors such as infidelity, discontent and distrust - your first child is assigned to you two years later. Children are created by artificial insemination in vitro, to ensure ideal genetic distribution. And to suppress passion and desire. Grammaton perfected Darwin's theory. At the age of four children receive their first dose of Prozium.

Yeah, we survived.

They call it Equilibrium.

I call it mind control.


	2. Bathroom

Four weeks have passed since I took my last interval of Prozium. A silly coincidence was all it took. A vial on the sink, a carelessness while brushing my teeth. The vial fell from the sink and burst on the floor. It lay there - shattered. I stared for a moment at the tiny pool of liquid and glass on the floor. Then I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and after the Prozium's effect had ceased, I suddenly noticed my face in the mirror. After two years I became aware of myself again. The face in the mirror was vaguely familiar. But it was no longer the girl's face I remembered. And it wasn't a woman's face either. I touched my dark hair, which was usually bound in a tight knot, and my fair skin, so soft beneath my fingers. I marveled at the dark freckles strewed across my nose, my cheeks and my brow. Horrified, I realized that I couldn't remember if I'd always had them. I heard my heart pounding in my chest and felt the cold water in my face. My eyes wandered over my body to the simple grey dress I wore. Since Prozium there was no vanity. We all wore the same clothes and hairstyles. My skin was still smooth and rosy although it hasn't seen sunlight in a long time. Memories descended upon me like waves on the beach. Memories of a time before Prozium. Of long forgotten feelings. Cold raindrops on my skin after a hot summer day. Tears of laughter in my eyes. Warm, soft lips tasting of lemonade and chocolate ice cream. I could hardly breathe, while I stared at myself in the mirror and suddenly remembered all that was taken from me two years ago. A single injection had numbed everything.

My husband John entered the tiny bathroom. Just a sink, a toilet and a small personal maintenance mirror. John, who had been selected for me by Grammaton and of whom I knew nothing. He wasn't more than a face in the crowd, without personality. I stared at him and couldn't believe how I had been able to live with him those last two years. He wasn't very tall, skinny, and his arms were too long. His fair hair was just as dull as his skin, and I couldn't tell how old he was. We all looked older than we actually were. I felt nothing when I looked at him. There had been just one man in my life I ever loved. And Prozium took him away from me. That's what I also remembered now.

His eyes moved to the pool of amber and glass on the floor. Then sharply back up to me. „What are you doing?" Each citizen was constrained to watch everyone within his circuit. Should there be any doubt that someone might turn into a Sense Offender or was hiding EC-10, he was to be reported immediately. Otherwise you were charged with accomplice and sentenced.

I tried to answer him but not a single tone left my lips. All at once the bathroom was too tight, too depressive. I could hardly breathe. Like a prison. I just wanted to get out. Get out of this life that didn't belong to me.

„I said what are you doing?" He watched me indifferently, yet I knew that he suspected something. I had to pull myself together if I wanted to survive.

I shook my head. „Nothing. Just a mishap. I accidentally dropped my morning interval... I... I took it out before I brushed my teeth. A mistake."

„Then you'll go by Grammaton, log the loss and get a replacement," he said flatly. The government dictated that you were to report yourself to Grammaton within an hour. Our society couldn't afford their citizens to step out of line. We were all machines. Emotionless. Mindless. Within this dictatorship no one was allowed to be without Prozium long enough to realize what happened to him and the others.

I nodded. „Of course."

„I can give you a lift." Pragmatic. Controlled. I wanted to scream.

„That's not necessary. The lab's on my way to work. I can drive by." Suddenly it was so easy to lie to him.

I never arrived at Grammaton.


	3. EC-10

Since that day I tuck away my intervals under my mattress, even so I'm very aware of the fact that it signs my death sentence. If John or someone else ever finds out what I'm doing, I will be executed just like my mother. The cold reality hits me like a punch in the face. Every day, we're exposed to threats and orders. We're not allowed to go somewhere without the ever present video screens and loudspeakers that constantly remind us what will happen if we own illegal material or won't take our interval. Sweeper teams and Clerics roam the city to inspect apartments and citizens. When a Sense Offender is caught, he's arrested and disappears. Most of them are sentenced to death for being considered unteachable. There are rumors about a hall of annihilation with an incinerator below Tetra Grammaton. That's where they took my mother. By now I know why she refused to take any more Prozium. I would rather die than proceed one more day like the last two years.

By day I work as a teacher at one of the public schools and teach the new doctrines to children: maths, chemistry, physics and modern history. Literature, art or music lessons are not considered in the schedule. In social science, we warn our students about this EC-10 material. It's rammed into them to immediately report any sightings of a poem, a painting or other emotionally charged objects. They train to become perfect little soldiers of our police state.

At night I work for the resistance. It's a dangerous game. We are a group of ten, yet growing steadily with more who discontinue their interval. Our goal is to fight the system and to preserve banned objects for posterity. It's amazing how many things survived the war and remained undetected by the Clerics - if you know where to look for them.


	4. Tessa meets Nick

Chance brought it about that I joined the resistance. Nick, the leader, caught me behind the school's main building one day, right after I had discovered a bush of wild lavender and was just about to pocket a few branches in my bag to dry them at home.

„Tessa?" he shouts and I turn around, startled. Nick is a teacher, too. I met him outside the classrooms a few times. With shock I drop the lavender. My whole body starts shaking. If he reports me, they would come and take me with them. And if I'm fortunate they'd only arrest me and bring me to heel with Prozium. Paralyzed with fear, I stand and watch him coming over while frantically searching for a good explanation. „I... I found this bush... by chance. We should destroy it immediately. I think it's forbidden. Why hasn't someone found it yet?"

His blonde hair shines golden in the afternoon sun and I remember how it felt to burry my hands in different, darker strands.

His brown eyes muster me for a moment before he gets down and picks up the branches I dropped. „Yeah, you're probably right," he says in a low voice.

My heart races, and I can feel sweat running down my spine. I don't know what to do. How to react. I've always been a bit slow at lying. „Or we could just take it," he adds.

I stare at him with huge eyes. Is this a trap? Is he trying to test me? Before I can answer, he grabs my wrist and presses his thumb on my pulse. Even I can feel the wild pounding beneath his fingertip.

„How long?" he asks while letting go off me.

„Two weeks," I whisper. It's useless to deny it any further.

He nods. „You should be more careful."

I'm still standing in front of him, immobilized by fear, and wait for him to call the Clerics and have me arrested.

His hand brushes my forearm. So softly. A faint smile plays on his lips. I gape at him because I haven't seen a smile in a very long time.

„It's okay, Tessa. Don't be afraid," he says gently. „I can help you. But you need to trust me."

„You, too?" I say astonished, not daring to finish the sentence.

He nods. „For quite some time now."

I give off a surprised sound. He fooled everyone at school. I would never have guessed that he is a Sense Offender.

„I know how you feel right now. Confused and terrified. You're scared of being caught. And yet... you can't go on. Am I right?"

Slowly I start to relax. He won't get me arrested. Quite the contrary. He wants to help me. I can hardly believe my luck. „I feel so lonely."

„You're not. Not anymore. There are more like us. We can help you. Trust me and you'll never have to return to your former life."

„Sounds good."

„So let's go. It's not safe here."

Nick takes my hand and I follow him without a doubt.


	5. Precious hour

When I return from my lessons to our apartment in the afternoon, John isn't home yet. He works for the Evidentiary Storage of Grammaton, where he logs confiscated EC-10 before it disappears forever. Usually he's not home before four. That's the good thing about our system. People become predictable. Everything runs orderly and regulated. We get up at the same time each day, eat the same breakfast, take the same way to work. Nothing is random. As soon as we change the pattern, we become suspicious. And that's why it's easy to infiltrate the system unnoticeably. All I have to do to keep John from getting suspicious is to stick to the pattern.

So I change from my teacher uniform into the simple grey dress I wear each day after work. A dress thousands of other women wear at the same time. I tie my hair into a tight knot at the back of my head. I turn on the TV. There's only one channel broadcasting propaganda for Prozium and the new government. Then I prepare dinner and set the table. Just like every day.

Half an hour later I'm done. Which gives me a little more than an hour until John will come through the door. And I know exactly how to use this precious hour. I sit down on the couch, pull my bag over and take out a textbook about applied mathematics. Which it isn't. Hidden between the cover I put a couple of yellowed and burnt pages of Pride and Prejudice. Nick gave them to me after one of his students had immediately reported his discovery and had handed over the EC-10 to his teacher. Hard luck with Nick working for the resistance. He's never had the intention to burn the pages. Instead I own them now. With pointed fingers, scared I could crumble them to dust any moment, I open them and start to read. Words transform into images, images into characters, characters into a story. Tears burn in my eyes while I read the first lines. Beautiful, so beautiful. I can feel the emptiness inside my heart fill up. I devour the pages like a wayfarer a mug of water after days of marching through the desert. I can't get enough. For a short moment I leave reality behind and let my imagination soar.

Too soon I reach the end and the sentence leads to nothing. I want more, so much more. If only there'd be more pages! Unwillingly, I return to the cold reality, now even more dull than before. That's when I hear it. Steps outside in the hallway. A group of men running up the stairs. I needn't guess what's happening.

House raid.


	6. Cleric

With a loud bang the front door crashes in. A dust cloud whirls up and rains down on my sparse furniture. Alarmed, I jump off the couch. There's no time left. Carelessly and without regard I stuff the pages down the neckline of my dress. I throw a haunted look around the apartment. A governmental announcement flickers on the TV screen, the coffee table is empty, the cabinets are closed and the windows are covered with protective foil to keep daylight out. I run my hands over my hair and enter the hallway. I try to keep on a neutral expression, bare any emotion. By now I've learnt to put on the perfect mask to stay undetected. I remain silent while five soldiers in black uniforms and helmets, armed with machine guns, storm into my apartment. My heart beats frantically in my chest, fear spreads inside me. On the outside, I carry it off well. One false word and I'm dead. The soldiers circle me and point their guns at me. I force myself to remain still while my whole body screams at me to run. Of course it was just a matter of time until they'd find me. Until someone gave me away. It could have been anybody. A neighbor, a student from my class, even my own husband. It's their duty as citizens. To protect our society. But it doesn't matter anymore. Everyone knows the verdict sentenced upon Sense Offenders. Death. I try to breathe slowly and evenly and gulp down the panic until it settles heavily in my stomach. So little time. I've had so little time. I wish I could have supported the resistance longer and really made a difference. I wish I could have had more time with my emotions.

His head bowed, a figure, cloaked in fluent black, walks through the doorframe, and I raise my eyes. He imposes a superior force not to be underestimated.

Clerics.

Angels of death.

They track down rebels, ordered to kill them immediately and to exterminate banned material. They are killing machines, trained and without mercy. The sight of him brings my fate to my mind. Sweat trickles down my spine. A chilly draught breezes through the corridor as he stops in front of me. His tall frame intimidates me. I flinch and crash into the wall behind me. I stifle a scream. He raises his head. Grey eyes, cold as steel, look down on me. The emptiness inside them makes me shiver. His eyes betray no emotion, and even now, as they stare into mine, I can't tell what color they are. Covered by the shadows in the hall they appear dark. Once they were warm and gentle. The truth hits me unexpectedly.

I know him.

Christian. It's Christian.

Quickly I lower my gaze to hide the feelings his name unleashes before they are reflected in my eyes. He'd sense them right away. Christian.

Up to the moment he entered my apartment I haven't seen Christian Preston for five years. And he looks different. Tougher, taller, harder, sharper. He's muscular, mature, calm and quick. He looks like he can't afford to be soft or slow or relaxed. He can't afford to be anything but muscles, strength and efficiency. His features are smooth, precise, formed by years of hard life, training and the struggle to survive.

He's no longer the boy next door. He's not afraid. He's a Cleric.

But he's not a complete stranger. He still has the most extraordinary eyes I've ever seen. Dark and profound and drenched in passion. I've always wondered what it might be like to see the world through those irises.

I bann the memories from my mind. This man is not Christian. He is a trained machine, mindless and emotionless. Everything that was Christian is drowned in Prozium. He's nothing but a ghost from the past. And he's a force better not to provoke or to be witnessed how he forces himself on his enemies.

Christian.

My High School love is dead.

This is Christian, the best Cleric they got. A First Class Cleric.

Christian, who arrested my mother and had her murdered.

„We got information that you're hiding EC-10," he says in an evenly voice. Nothing on him tells me that he knows me. Perhaps they eradicated his memory along with his emotions.

„I don't know what you're talking about," I answer quietly.

Everything reminds me of the day they came to take my mother. It happened so fast. They had kicked in the door, just like now. Christian had grabbed her and had dragged her out of the apartment. My mother had screamed and begged him, she had tried to reach his conscience and she had lashed out, but he had shown no sign of emotion. She had made him pancakes, had loved him like a son. Still he had handed her over to Grammaton. Two days later she had died in the fire.

Since that day I know the Christian I loved is dead. Just as his expression.

In one fluent movement he raises his arm, puts his hand around my throat, his fingers digging into my skin. I gasp for air. His grip tightens. The pain is unbearable. I hear a gurgle down my throat while he crushes my trachea. His face is petrified. Dark spots appear in my peripheral vision. My blood rushes in my ears. Christian's face becomes blurred. I hear the seconds tick away in my mind. Not much longer and I'll lose consciousness. I don't know if he's serious or trying to test me. Fear casts a damp over my thoughts. Now I don't feel his fingers any more, just the beating of my heart, pounding in my chest.

A faint beep sounds from his watch. His head spins round. I suspect what the beep means. His next interval is due. I can hardly believe my luck. His grip loosens and he turns off the beeping at the touch of a button. Greedily I breathe for air, but my lungs burn like fire and I give off a low cry. Just a few minutes before his hand will return to my neck. I think feverishly, my thoughts a mess of fear, desperation and panic when I notice him reaching inside the pocket of his black coat and pulling out the injector.

This is my chance.

It's just a tiny chance, but maybe the only one I'll get. They'll probably shoot me right away. Does it make a difference? Whether I die right here or in the flames a few days later? At least I go down fighting.

I watch him opening the injector's cache and grabbing a vile filled with yellow liquid to put it inside the mechanism and inject it in his jugular vein.

Now or never.

My hand shoots up and collides with his holding the injector. In a wide arc the vile flies from his hand. We both watch it as it spins in the air for a few seconds, then lands on the tiles with a clink. Glas shatters into a thousand pieces and liquid spreads slowly.

The soldiers gasp in horror. They unlock their guns and point them directly in my face. Christian stares at me with bottomless eyes. We all know the meaning of the broken vial. Within a few minutes the remaining Prozium in his blood will fade. He would feel again. If he doesn't get a substitute as soon as possible.

„Search the apartment and leave her to me."

Still enough time to kill me.

The soldiers lower their weapons and in unison they swarm out into every room. I can hear them opening drawers, tearing clothes from my wardrobe and moving cupboards.

I look into Christian's expressionless face. „Christian, it's me..."

My voice is hardly a whisper. „Tessa." Even now I can't look at him without my chest tightening and my heart trembling with pain. Dark hair, grey eyes, delicate cheekbones, thick dark lashes, ripe lips - he would have been beautiful, if he wasn't so tall and muscular. My hands touched those arms. I know how they feel - like iron, wrapped with hard muscles; his hands are slender and lithe while embracing my face. I drag my thoughts away from the memories. Memories are bad when you know the present truth. Christian is beautiful but he doesn't belong to me. He belongs to Grammaton.

Like statues we stand in front of each other, motionless. I hardly dare to breathe or blink. I'm waiting, hoping for a sign of recognition. They took his feelings but not his memories. At least that's what I want to believe. It's my only hope.

An eternity passes before he speaks.

„I'll do what I can. Maybe they'll be lenient."

Disappointment hits me like a punch in my guts. In my imagination he tells me that he knows me. That he missed me. That he's sorry for what he did to my mother. The reality is disillusioning.

„We both know they won't be." He should know best. I wonder how many he's send into the fire. Why is he trying to calm me? Because he knows me? To silence his conscience? But he has no conscience...

„I'm sorry." But his face remains impassive.

„No, you're not. You don't even know what that means. It's just a redundant world for an emotion you don't have." I start to rage and even forget who's in front of me... „Don't you understand? It's all gone. Everything that's important to me is gone." You were important to me, I want to scream. And my mother.

„No more war. No more death." That's exactly what Grammaton wants us to believe. It's useless. He doesn't get it, doesn't want to or isn't capable of understanding.

„And what do you think you're doing?" I heatedly yell at him.

„No." He shakes his head. „We both witnessed where jealousy and rage leads us."

„To feel again..." I interrupt.

His face is dead still.

„For the last time: where is the forbidden material?" His voice is silent just like his face. Hope leaves me with a powerless breath.

Christian raises his arm and aims his gun at my forehead. So he's going to kill me right away. Why make an exception for me? He handed my mother over to the magistrate. He arranged for her execution.

His eyes are dead while he's waiting, the gun steady in his hand. Half of his life he had been trained to kill. He wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in my head.

I close my eyes. „I did nothing," I say, my voice surprisingly calm and sure. I'm completely still, try to relax my muscles, control myself like Prozium would. A mirror image of his rigor.

I wait. When I open my eyes again, I notice his finger pulling the trigger. I look into his eyes.

That's when I see it.

His pupils dilate. His icy grey eyes start to change. I think I can see a flicker in them. My heart is in my throat. I hold my breath. A split second the weapon in his hand falters. A tiny movement, just the blink of an eye, but hope washes over me in a giant wave.

The Prozium fades.

We still stare at each others. Christian blinks. I notice a vein appearing at his neck. Beneath his skin a heavy pulse is beating.

Slowly, my breath leaves my lungs. It's like I can feel the drug vanishing from his blood. It's similar to what happened to me when I forgot my dose for the first time. Everything descended upon me. Sounds, colors, scents and most of all emotions I couldn't remember.

Suddenly his face mirrors what happens inside him. He drops the gun. Awareness fills his eyes, their grey warming. Inside them I see memories of warm summer nights by the camp fire, sundays at the lake, when we soaked each other, and our first hasty, awkward kiss in the water.

„Tessa." It's all there in this one word. I can almost hear the warmth from that time in it.

„Christian." I slowly raise my hand, just a bit, and reach for his. Our fingers are just inches away, I can feel the warmth of his skin.

„Sir?"

Christian turns around while I hastily drop my hand. One of the soldiers returned to the hallway. „All clear," he announces.

Christian squares his shoulders, the blank expression back in his face. He nods. „Retreat."

The soldier spins around, leaves the hallway and returns with the rest of his team. Before he leaves my apartment, he addresses Christian once more. „You better get to the laboratory right now to replace your dose, Sir."

„Of course." Christian casts one last look at me before he follows his men outside.

My knees give in and I slide along the wall to the ground. The shattered vile lies in front of me. Four weeks ago it had been my dose. I wonder what he'll do. If he'll get the replacement. Well, being a cleric he has no other choice. Why would the hunter want to become the hunted? There's no use in having hopes. It's foolish. This little episode will probably reinforce him to continue his crusade with a vengeance. I don't know if I'm still safe. Perhaps he'll return with his team as soon as he's got his dose. I attacked a cleric. It doesn't need a lot of thinking to figure out the punishment. Nick. Nick would know what to do. I must tell him what happened so he can help me. Christian is not to be trusted. He arrested my mum, why should he make an exception for me? Just because he remembers my name, doesn't mean he would let me go. And become suspicious himself.


	7. The Lake

**Five years ago**

 **Before Equilibrium**

The lake had been our secret hiding place. The place where no one bothered us and where we were alone, just us. I had been there once before with my parents, my father had taught me how to swim one afternoon. Since then I came here on a regular basis. It was hidden in a small forest close to the neighborhood where I lived with my parents. I simply hopped on my bike and fifteen minutes later I was there. It was the perfect place to get lost in my beloved books and escape reality. The lake was surrounded by thick sycamore trees and high grass near the shore. There was an old fisherman's cabin near the western shore, from which a small dock led into the water. But I had never seen anyone fishing there. The old rowing boat next to the cabin had a hole near the bow and was half sunken in the water. Inside the cabin there was nothing but bulk garbage, a few logs of wood, old buckets and destroyed fishing nets.

As I biked to my favorite place this hot afternoon in July, I wasn't alone. Someone was sitting on the dock, feet dangling into the water. It hadn't rained in days and the water line was lower than I had ever seen it before. I leaned my bike against a tree, then I fought my way through the high grass, carrying my bag filled with books. So far I had always been alone here and I wondered if the heat had driven the intruder to this place. Or it was the presumed missing fisherman. Slowly I approached the dock. The dark hair and the well built figure looked slightly familiar. He was a few feet away, tall and broad shouldered.

The old wooden laths creaked beneath my sandals when I stepped on the dock.

He span around and stared at me, his face furious.

I knew him.

In my mind I sighed deeply.

Christian Preston. Football star and every girl's object of desire.

Him of all people! Couldn't it have been someone else?

His dark hair was wavy and messy, and although his face was untouched, his eyes were filled with contempt. Piercing and unrelenting. Yet I didn't do anything to him. My forced smile disappeared. He looked like an avenging angel with his intense eyes and his ethereal features. Smooth skin and dark clothes.

„Sorry, I didn't know you're here," I stammered and turned crimson red. My new found false courage was crushing me beneath his stare. It slipped off me, dirty and slabby. Then I was furious with myself. The lake was a public place. I didn't need to apologize for my presence. But his demeanor was so hostile, and due to his height and his athletic body he appeared so threatening to me that I wanted to subject myself like a puppy.

„Hm," was the only answer I got. He turned away and continued to stare at the lake. Again I thought that I liked the length of his hair a lot. For a moment I wondered how his hair would feel like and if it was as smooth as it looked, then I noticed that I was idolizing him although he had been very rude to me just seconds ago. I wondered why he was so angry.

I felt like he had stood me up, knowing very well that someone like Christian would never consider going out with someone like me. With me, the book worm, who had read everything about kisses and passion, but had never felt like the characters in my books.

Until he came along.

He was my Mister Darcy.

The first thing I had noticed was that Christian was attractive. Of course I had heard from my schoolmates that they considered him attractive but it was one thing to know it and another to feel it. I had to feel it every day. Christian was handsome. I liked his muscular body, his large hands, his thick dark hair and his expressive grey eyes. He had one of those faces that made you slow down while browsing through a magazine. Not picture-perfect, but hypnotic. Like the cover of a book inviting you to open it and get lost inside its story. I wanted to touch him and everything he had touched. I wanted to kiss him, in the morning, while waking up next to him, when he was still soft and warm and compliable from sleep. I wanted to mess up his perfect hair at the breakfast table and place a bowl of cornflakes in front of him. I wanted him to grab my waist for it and I wanted to laugh with him and I wanted to listen to our children's laughter. I wanted to roll up on the couch next to him and feel his arm around my shoulders pulling me closer.

I wanted sex. Real sex, long and luxurious, filled with ecstasy and desire, not the short, clumsy fumbling of my schoolmates in restrooms.

I wanted Christian to want me and that he wanted all those things, too, but I know it would never happen. He wasn't like me...

„You're in my English class, right?" His voice threw me back into reality. I looked like a drowned rat, standing before him on the dock, face deep red, because I had managed to think about sex in his presence. Well, in fact I thought of nothing else when he was close... Every inch of him was utter temptation. So much pure male erotic radiated from him unlike any other boy at my school. It was hard, if not impossible, to resist his dark sensuality. It addled my senses, and made me dream of passionate kisses, whispered secrets in the dark and moist, mussed sheets. But normally I did it when he wasn't watching me. I wanted to curl up and die. Or run.

„Tessa Harris," he said and looked at me quizzically. I was surprised that he had noticed me in class at all and even knew my name. While I had tried to make myself invisible and feared to just look in his direction. „You're the one who actually reads all the books we're supposed to read."

Yep, exactly, I thought, the nerd who will be infatuated by you for the rest of her life. And you'll invite Shirley, head cheerleader and the most beautiful girl at school, to prom night and tell her how you met me at the lake one afternoon. Soaked with sweat, with ruffled hair and red cheeks and a bag filled with books - the only friends I had ever had.

I realized that I should say something but my brain was awkward and fuzzy, so I just stood there. Up close, only a few feet away, he looked even better. It should be illicit for a boy to look that attractive. He said nothing. He just stared at me. His face was fascinating in a nerve-wrecking handsome way.

„So," I said after an embarrassingly long pause. „I guess I better leave..." Hastily I picked up my bag, span on my heel and ran down the dock.

„Hey, wait!" he called after me.

I didn't stop and didn't turn around either. The whole way back to my bike I cried over my cowardice.


End file.
